Public Image
by teethlikedog
Summary: He doesn't know what he wants, only what he can't have. [SakurabaShin]


A study in self-doubt and confusion, set prior to the White Knights' first appearance in the manga (i.e. before the start of the football season). If this seems a little hard on Sakuraba, well, he's a little hard on himself sometimes.

* * *

_**Public Image**_

"Great shoot, kid!"

Startled, Sakuraba wheels and snags his foot on a football helmet. Miracle Itou grabs his arm to steady him, flashing an incandescent grin.

"Hey now, be careful. We don't want you damaging that valuable face of yours!"

"S-sorry," Sakuraba replies, pulling a shirt on over his head. "You surprised me." He kicks the offending helmet into a corner, to join the rest of the costume that he wore for the photo shoot. He'd rather not have to look at it again.

"Anyway," Itou continues, "I just wanted to tell you that the sponsors were a hundred and ten percent happy with the shoot. You did great, as usual." The grin returns full force, and Sakuraba returns it weakly. He finds it difficult to be as enthusiastic about this as his agent is, but then _he's_ the one who's going to be plastered all over billboards, wearing a football uniform in the American Burger colours.

He glances at the discarded uniform, embarrassed at the very sight of it. He could scarcely bring himself to put that thing on - would have refused, if not for Itou's cajoling - and he stripped it off the instant the shoot was over, burning with humiliation at the thought of people seeing him like that. Especially the team. What will Coach Shouji say?

Too often, Sakuraba finds himself thinking that this sponsorship deal with American Burger is more indignity than it's worth. Mixing football with promotional modelling - something in his gut told him that it would end up badly, and now it's too late to back out of this mess. The deal is signed, sealed and legally binding. And worth thirty million yen, as Itou so often reminds him.

"Oh, by the way," Itou adds from the doorway, "I've scheduled you in for a magazine interview. The interviewer is waiting outside."

"But I have practice in fifteen minutes!" Sakuraba protests. "And it's all the way across town - I'll be late as it is."

"Don't worry!" The agent waves a hand dismissively. "I'll square things with your coach. He has to understand that your career comes before high school football."

"But - "

"I'll send that interviewer in now."

Before Sakuraba can protest further, Itou is gone in a flurry of white teeth and blue pinstripe. He runs a hand through his hair with a faint sigh, wishing more than anything that he could just get out of here. But he has his obligations, and when someone knocks on the dressing room door, he slips on a bright smile and invites them in.

The interview is for a woman's magazine, the questions predictable. The interviewer - a glossy woman in her mid-thirties - wants to know how he began modelling, what it's like being a celebrity in high school, what his plans are for the future, whether he has a girlfriend. Stock questions, with stock answers that Sakuraba can reel off without much effort.

He doesn't much mind interviews, until they start asking about the White Knights, and what it's like to be the star of the team. And of course when he attempts to deny it they simply brush his words off and praise him for his modesty. Seeing those interviews in print, Sakuraba detests the person he seems to be, even knowing that it isn't really him.

Fortunately, this woman only mentions in passing that he plays football, doesn't he, and he smiles and says that he does. After she's done questioning him, the photographer spends altogether too long snapping pictures of Sakuraba from various angles; it's going to be a full colour two page spread, the interviewer explains. Finally the photographer is satisfied, and Itou reappears as the magazine people make their exit.

"Excellent stuff!" he enthuses. "I was listening outside, and you sounded really good."

Sakuraba looks at his watch, and groans.

"Oh great - practice started half an hour ago. Coach is going to _kill_ me!"

"Yeah, but that full colour spread is going to be _great_ for publicity!"

By the time Sakuraba makes it to Oujou, football practice is almost over. He approaches the sidelines hesitantly, but instead of receiving Coach Shouji's fury there and then, he's sent to wait in the man's office. That's even worse, Sakuraba knows, because it only gives the coach more time to stew. But he might as well take his medicine now as later, so he sits there and waits, and when the door slams shut he shrinks down in his seat.

"Your form has been way off lately," Shouji informs him, after the initial "where the hell were you!" rant is over. "You're spending too much time shooting commericals and signing autographs, and not enough on the practice field."

"I'm really sorry, Coach - "

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Sakuraba. I only have room for players on my team, not models, so you'd better decide where your priorities lie."

"Yes, sir." He sinks down further in the chair, unhappy and ashamed, because everything the man's said is true. Perhaps seeing the misery and guilt in his expression, Shouji relents somewhat, sighing and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Okay," he says. "Get out on that field and give me fifty laps - make it sixty - and we'll forget about today."

"Thanks Coach," Sakuraba stands up, genuinely grateful; for Coach Shouji this counts as positively lenient.

"Now get the hell out of my office."

Sixty times around a football field is a long and lonely business, with nothing to do but count off the laps and think about what you've done to earn them. Priorities, Coach Shouji said, but the problem is that Sakuraba doesn't know what his should be. Itou is always telling him that he has to focus on his career, that now is the time he needs to make a name for himself, and that business _has_ to come first. Sakuraba understands all this, but the thing is...

The thing is, he loves football. He knows it's just a high school thing - he's not professional standard and never will be - but he loves being on the team, playing the game. And he's _good_ at it, otherwise he wouldn't be one of the White Knights. By the standards of the team, he's fairly ordinary, but even Oujou's lowest reserve players still have above-average skills.

But is it fair, to the rest of the team, for him to be slacking off and missing practices? Coach Shouji was right, his form _has_ been off lately, because he hasn't been practicing and training the way he should be; he's been too busy giving interviews and getting his picture taken. For someone like Shin, whose dedication and determination know no bounds, to be on a team with someone like _him_ - it's surely an insult to his efforts. At that thought, Sakuraba's guilt only deepens; he doesn't want to be a burden on his team, on Shin.

It's all the fault of his damned pretty-boy looks, that set the fangirls screaming and swooning. Sakuraba's appearance has always made him popular with girls, but when has he ever cared about that? The White Knights, though, don't care about his looks. When he's on the football field he's just another player, judged on his ability rather than his appearance. Or at least, he was until someone made the connection between Jaripuro Sakuraba-kun and Sakuraba Haruto of the Oujou White Knights, and the sponsorship offers came rolling in.

Yeah, the offers. He can blame his looks all he likes, but Sakuraba knows that really it's his own fault, for being weak. Too weak to say no when Miracle Itou brought the American Burger deal to him; too weak to stop his agent from talking him into pretty much anything. He's always been too weak, too willing to acquiesce in order to avoid conflict. It's something that Sakuraba despises in himself, yet he can't seem to stop it.

So what to do? The sixty laps are up; Sakuraba has no idea how long he's been running, and after all that still no idea of what he's going to do. He knows where his priorities _should_ lie, logically, but that doesn't help him to decide where they _do_.

He makes his way back to the locker room, and sees that his bag isn't the only one there. He recognises the other bag immediately; Shin's, of course, and Sakuraba doesn't think that it got left behind. Exactly like Shin to go to the gym right after practice is over, seeing miniscule flaws in his performance and unable _not_ to attack them immediately. Just to make sure, Sakuraba pads down the corridor and pushes open the heavy gym doors.

Shin is in there, doing sit ups, the short _huff_ of his breathing loud in the empty room. It's incredible, the way he pushes himself - a little frightening too, when you see that determined intensity in his eyes, the look that says he'll let nothing stand in his way. He heaves himself up and down mercilessly along the bench, seemingly oblivious to everything around him; Sakuraba stands there, feeling like a spy - like a voyeur - as if it's wrong for him to be watching like this without Shin knowing he's there.

Finally he manages to clear his throat awkwardly. Shin breaks pace smoothly; sits up; looks at him.

"Where were you today?"

It's a question, not an accusation, even though Shin would be perfectly entitled to make one. Sakuraba finds himself flinching more from those calm eyes and even tone than he did from all Coach Shouji's fury.

"Ahh...I got held up. I'm really sorry I wasn't there."

Shin gives him a look that says, louder than words, _why are you apologising to **me**? _and climbs off the bench, slinging a towel around his neck.

"We can't afford to slack off, not now."

The words are spoken not as a rebuke but as a reminder, and they cut all the deeper for it. Not Shin's intention, Sakuraba knows - the other boy would never speak down to a team mate, would never speak down to him. But to be treated as an equal by someone so obviously superior only makes Sakuraba more acutely aware of his inadequacies.

"I know," is all he can reply, and he can feel the guilt worrying at his insides. Shin walks over, lifting a hand to rest briefly on his shoulder, and Sakuraba feels his heart give an involuntary skip beneath his ribs.

"Come on," Shin says. "You can probably do with a shower, after all that running."

In the showers, Sakuraba keeps his eyes on the tiles, on the taps, on the drains. Anywhere but on Shin, because he'd feel like he did back in the gym, looking at Shin without permission. And yeah, Shin knows he's here (there's just the two of them here, after all) but it still feels wrong, like something shameful. That missed heartbeat when Shin touched him, that wasn't a once-off, and though Sakuraba has tried not to think about that sort of thing, it's difficult not to right at this moment. And somehow he knows that if he looks once, he won't be able to look anywhere else.

"Sakuraba?"

On instinct he glances in the direction of the voice, and wishes he hadn't while something twists deep inside him. Shin is naked. Very naked, and it's not so bad after practice when it's all of them, a gang of loud-mouthed guys sluicing off the mud and grass. But now, oh right now, Sakuraba's pulse is thudding and he can feel his body starting to betray him.

If Shin notices he says nothing, just pulls the wet hair from his eyes and fixes him with that penetrating stare.

"Are you all right, really?" he asks. "Only you've been acting strange lately."

"Yeah, of course, I'm fine!" He can't keep the note of strained cheer from his voice, and he tears his eyes away from Shin, turning his back. There's silence for a few moments, and then:

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine!" he retorts without looking, feeling the tension quiver through his muscles. His entire body feels like it's on the verge of splintering, and when a concerned hand touches his shoulder, it's too much.

"Just leave me alone, would you?" he snaps, and walks out of the showers, snatching a towel and roughly drying himself off. As he pulls on his clothes, he hears Shin's bare feet slapping wetly on the floor behind him, but doesn't turn. He doesn't want to face that calm, unaccusing expression, not now. Shin doesn't say anything either.

Hastily dressed, Sakuraba stuffs his training gear into his bag and pushes open the locker room door without a word. He doesn't stop walking until he's outside and out of sight of the gym; then he leans against a wall, taking deep, shuddering breaths and clenching his fists until the trembling stops. It will be all right, he knows rationally; Shin will take it as a bad mood and probably won't mention it again. But Sakuraba isn't feeling all that rational right now. He tilts his head back against the brick, and wonders what the hell is wrong with him, and whether it will ever _not _be.

The first game of the season is next week.


End file.
